A Bar Called Haven
by The Lady Rogue
Summary: If you are thirsty, and in need of a drink, if you are tired and in need of a bed, if you are running, and in need of a place to hide, you will find Haven. Evangeline Brown operates a bar in New York City that is only accessible to those who really need it. Harry Potter x Avengers x Supernatural x Doctor Who x Sherlock
1. Introduction

This is not an ordinary story. This story has no dark lords to vanquish, nor evil villains to defeat. There is no super hero, no shining knight in armour.

Instead, there is a bar called Haven.

If you are thirsty, and in need of a drink, if you are tired and in need of a bed, if you are running, and in need of a place to hide, you will find Haven.

It operates in a manner similar to that of the Room of Requirement, which I'm sure you will have heard of, and is hidden like the Leaky Cauldron, only appearing to those with the greatest need.

Quite an impressive piece of spell work, I'm sure you'll agree. You'll be unsurprised to discover the owner and creator of the bar was a Ravenclaw, the name of Evangeline Brown. She's a pretty little thing, with dark hair and big blue eyes, and is quicker to curse than Harry Potter is to a snitch. In her spare time she consults for W.I.C.C.A. (Wizarding International Committee of Criminal Investigations).

But this story's not about her. It's about her guests. It's time for you to meet them.


	2. Post Budapest Stress Relief

2006

The slam of the bar door opening was enough to wake her. She rolled out of bed, checked the time (fucking 2am) and practically crawled to the entrance hall.

A couple had obviously fallen through the door in their haste to consummate. The man was buff, with hair cut so short he could have been in the army, and woman was slim and lithe, with auburn hair and vivid green eyes.

"We are never going to Budapest again." The man said as he pinned the woman up against the wall. They kissed, and it was more like a fight for control that any sort of kiss Evangeline had seen. The woman wrapped her legs around the man's waist as he picked her up, and she realised that they were going to have sex in the doorway if she didn't interrupt them. She almost didn't want to.

She coughed. They froze. The man looked over his shoulder and grinned at her sheepishly. The woman glared at her, daring her to say something.

"Room for the night?" She offered. They took the lifeline, and untangled. The man stalked over.

"We'll pay in the morning." He informed her, holding a hand out for the key. She slid it across the bar to him, ignoring the bulge that was a gun, and the bulge that wasn't.

"Breakfast's at 8." She said cheerily. He swiped the key and they disappeared up the stairs. She chuckled, and went back to bed.


	3. After Bad Day At Black Rock

2007

Evangeline was pretty fucking bored. She hadn't had a new case in days, and bar was empty. She'd been reduced to completing the sudukos in the gossip rags. So when the first few bars of Highway to Hell echoed in from outside, she happily hummed along.

The song cut away with the sound of a car engine being turned off.

She grinned, casting a few disillusionment charms on anything obviously non-muggle, and propped herself behind the bar, glass in one hand, dishcloth in the other.

Two well-built attractive young men stumbled in. Youngish. Probably about her age.

"Bloody Bela." The shorter and prettier one mumbled. Well, relatively shorter. The taller one looked to be half giant.

"Stole my winnings. Can't believe it."

"Really Dean? You really can't believe it?" The tall one asked. He was built like a lumberjack, Merlin, those shoulders. "Room for the night please." He said as he approached the bar, the pretty one – Dean – trailing behind.

"Do you have any pie?" Dean asked. She laughed.

"Room and board is fifty bucks. I'm sure I'll be able to find you some pie." He grinned. Charming. "Double or twin?" They both grimaced.

"We're brothers!" Her eyes flicked between the two of them and she hummed her acceptance.

"First room up the stairs on the left." She said, exchanging the crumpled notes for a key. She stored the muggle money in the till, and jerked her head toward the stairs.

"Food'll be ready at six."

"Thanks miss." Tall but not as pretty said, and they traipsed up the stairs. She watched them go. Damn. Having an ass like that was criminal. She hoped, for the sake of witches everywhere, Dean was at least bisexual.

"Mimsy!" The house elf popped to her side, the only part of her pureblood inheritance she hadn't sold. It had seemed too cruel, and besides, Mimsy loved the thrill of working in a bar.

"Yes Mistress Evangeline." She squeaked. Today she was dressed in a vivid green tutu, with sparkly pink wellington boots. Harry swore she was related to Dobby.

"Dinner for two guests to be ready at six, and they'd like some pie to go with it."

"Yes Mistress! Is they wizards?"

"'Fraid not, so keep out of sight please." Mimsy nodded, nearly toppling over, and disappeared with a pop. They hadn't seemed like wizards, but there was definitely something different about them. There usually was. She checked the cameras outside the entrance they'd used to see if there was someone following them. Nothing. Just a battered Chevy Impala 67.

They thumped back down the stairs at five to six, seating themselves in corner seats with clear views of the exits. She brought the food over, and two pints, and left them to their meal as they trawled through the national papers she had available. She wiped down some glasses, pretending not to eavesdrop, while using an extendable ear. They were having a fervent discussion about some murders in Ohio, and the best way of killing vampires. She caught the glint of a gun. Ah. Hunters. Probably for the best they hadn't seen Mimsy.

Dean devoured the pie. If she hadn't seen Ron Weasley eat a full cooked breakfast in under a minute should wouldn't have believed how quickly he scoffed it down.

"That was the best pie I've ever had." He announced.

"You always say that." The tall one grumbled. She took them over each another slice and winked at Dean.

"Marry me?" He said.

"You talking to the pie, or to me?" She asked. He shrugged. She cleared the plates after they finished, and they soon retreated to their room. They left before dawn the next day, and she helped Mimsy clean the room. There were remnants of salt left along the window sill and before the door. She snorted with laughter. Typical hunters.


	4. The Man Of The Hour

2008

When Tony Stark walked into her bar, looking like he'd been to hell and back, she remembered what she'd read in the papers, and realised he pretty much had been. His eyes were wide and bloodshot, and he seemed unsteady on his feet. He was wasted, she could tell that much.

She flicked her hand at the TV to switch off the reruns of Stark's dramatic life, half an eye on Stark to check he hadn't noticed. Honestly, he wasn't in a state to notice much.

"I really fucking hate the press." He mumbled. Well then, he shouldn't have announced that he was Iron Man. She sighed, and placed a glass of water in front of him. He jumped back, startled.

"Drink that, then I'll get you to bed, alright?" She said. He glared at the water suspiciously, but drank it anyway. She caught him as he collapsed. So she'd spiked his drink with dreamless sleep. He probably needed it, and she doubted he'd remember.

"Mobilicorpus." She muttered, and levitated him into a bed, removing his suit jacket and hanging it in the wardrobe, and placing his shoes at the end of the bed. She hoped he didn't need to be sick. The dreamless sleep would wear off in a couple hours, and the alcohol would hit him badly then. She sank into an armchair, resigned to staying up the night. She cast a few monitoring charms that would alert her if he became ill, and closed her eyes.

The charms woke her a little after six. She opened her eyes. Stark groaned, and rolled over. He pushed himself up.

"Fuck. Where am I?"

"Mr Stark." He flinched at her voice, and scrambled away from her to the other side of the bed. She held up both her hands.

"How you feeling?" She asked.

"Like death warmed over." He took in his surroundings. When his gaze returned to her, his eyes were sharp. "Who are you? Where am I?"

"You collapsed in my bar. My name is Evangeline. You're still in New York, and you're free to go whenever, but if you want some food I'll make us some breakfast." He huffed, and took a seat on the bed.

"I'll be downstairs." She left the room and asked Mimsy to start on the bacon. Stark joined her a couple minutes later, having found the rest of his outfit. He slid a hundred bill onto the bar.

"Bacon. Water." He rasped. She passed him a bottle of unopened water and a packet of Advil.

"Why did you announce you were Iron Man if you didn't want the press hounding you?" She asked. He glared at her. She went to collect the bacon and some toast from the kitchen, serving herself some as well.

"Wanted to be seen as something other than my father's son." He muttered after picking at the food. She snorted.

"Should probably cut back on the alcohol then." She commented. He stared at her with heavy lidded eyes, then laughed.

"Fuck. You're the only person I know part from Rhodey who's got the balls to say that to me." She shrugged. Stark was a spoilt brat, but it wasn't completely his fault.

"What's the name of this place?" He asked. "I'll ring Happy, he'll come pick me up." She eye his phone. It was unlikely to work here.

"It's Haven. But I'll ring you a cab. The network can be a bit funny at times."

"This is a Stark Phone." He bragged, looked at his phone, and frowned. She smirked, and called a cab to the shop next door. Haven was unplottable, and a cabbie unlikely to find it.

"So how'd a girl like you end up in a place like this?" He asked while they waited for the cab. She stared at him.

"Did you seriously just ask me that?" He grinned, and shrugged.

"Well?" She rolled her eyes.

"My parents left me a nice nest egg, used it to buy this. I like it." He nodded, looking thoughtful.

"Do you need any more investors?" He asked. Fucking hell, the nosy bastard.

"If you're worried I'm going to sell your story to the press, you needn't be. And no. I've got enough to live on comfortably. I just like running the place." She checked the time. "Your cab's here. Until next time, Mr Stark." He nodded, watching her with curious eyes. She hustled him out the door. Hopefully, there wouldn't be a next time. Not many people found this place twice.


	5. Pre-Avengers

2012

The epitome of human perfection walked into her bar. Literally, he was built like a god. Holy fuck she was almost drooling. Tall, muscled, blonde hair and blue eyed.

"Um, hi." Human perfection said. She blinked. He stared at her anxiously, dark bags under his eyes, fists clenching and unclenching. She ignored the fact he was so gorgeous she wanted to tie him to her bed and never let him up.

"You look like you could use a drink." She said. "And a friend." She added, as he hovered by the door. He walked in further. She went through the fallacy of turning the 'open' sign to closed, and beckoned him toward the bar, taking a seat beside him and cracking open her favourite bottle of whiskey.

"For every drink you've got to tell me something about yourself." She informed him as she poured them both a glass. Often all that was needed was someone to talk to. He slid her a smile that wasn't entirely forced, and picked up the glass, downing it in one. Fuck. She took a sip from hers.

"I didn't think bartenders even talked to their customers anymore." He admitted. Most didn't. She took another sip.

"Your turn." He said, surprising her.

"My name is Evangeline, and I own this bar." She informed him. He grinned, and offered his hand.

"Steve. Nice to meet you." She shook it and poured him another drink.

"What do you do, Steve?" He grimaced, and stared at the countertop.

"I used to work for the army, but lately…"

"Not such a fan?"

"You could say that." He smiled wryly. She poured them both another. She watched his profile, and realised she recognised him. She resisted spouting multiple swearwords, and excused herself. She dug through the muggle history books she owned until she found one about the Second World War. Holy mother fucking merlin. He was the spitting image of Steve Rogers, Captain America.

She walked back into the bar, and planted the history book under his nose, page open to a picture of him.

"Wanna tell me about this?" She asked. He bit his lip. Wow. She resolved to stick with just two drinks.

"I was frozen in ice for seventy years. They found me about six months ago, and I woke up properly a couple weeks ago." She poured him another drink.

"That explains why you're so damn pretty." She said. He blushed. Precious.

"I won't say anything. But bloody hell. Must be difficult." He nodded. She scrawled her mobile number on a piece of paper, and passed it to him.

"Someone's shown you how to use a cell phone, right?" He nodded again.

"Here's my number. If you ever need a friend." He pocketed the paper.

"Everything's different. Even the people. No one gives a damn about anyone else, and it's just awful." He admitted. She patted him on the shoulder.

"They do. You just need to look for the good in them." He smiled, finished his drink, and stood.

"Thanks Evangeline. I guess I needed to get that off my chest." She walked him to the door.

"No worries. You'll be alright. I promise."

A week later the Chitauri invaded. Evangeline opened her bar to the general public, and they flooded in. She warded it against non-humans, and watched in awe with the rest of the world as a group of people she recognised intimately, and the world recognised as the Avengers, defended New York from an insane sorcerer.


	6. Chameleon Circuits

2012

The woman sitting in the corner of her bar, inspecting every inch of it, was giving Evangeline the heebie-jeebies. She extracted some sort of device from her pocket, and it buzzed as she waved it around.

"Can I help you?" Evangeline asked.

"I'll have a shot of vodka and a lemonade." Evangeline raised an eyebrow.

"There'll be a one more coming." The woman explained. Doubtful. Evangeline poured the drinks, and brought them over. The woman drank the vodka, and shivered, grinning.

"Mmm, I'll have another of those please." Evangeline brought over the bottle.

"How'd you managed to wrap a chameleon circuit around the entire building?" The woman asked.

"What?"

"You know. How'd you manage to make it hide?" The woman said.

"It's a spell." Evangeline said, inspecting the woman's face. Her eyes widened.

"A spell? Fascinating. Can you show me? Is that how you manipulated the spacial dimension of the room?" Right. Science. Not exactly her cup of tea. Before she could answer, a strange whirring noise echoed around the room. A blue box apparated into her bar. Fucking hell.

A tall man in a tweed jacket and a bow tie wandered out.

"River!" He cried. Evangeline kept one hand on her wand.

"Hello sweetie!" River said. She'd never even heard of someone apparating an object that large into another building. She peered around him, into the box. It was bigger on the inside, but so was wizarding space.

"That's my spaceship." He said, as if that explained anything. He took a large swig of the lemonade.

"Right." She glanced at the two of them, and decided she could probably take them in a duel if necessary.

"Come along River. Lot's to do, and luckily lots of time." He grabbed River's hand, and dragged her into the box.

The door shut. The box whirred, and the disappeared. Well fuck.

They hadn't paid.


	7. I Don't Want To Explode

2013

Pepper Potts was stunning. Awe inspiring. And sitting in her bar. Tears streaming down her face. Evangeline handed her a tissue, and poured her a glass of wine.

"Boy trouble?" She asked. Potts sobbed. She patted her on the back. Awkwardly.

"I'm sure he's a bastard." Potts sobbed harder. Okay. Wrong angle. "It'll be okay." Potts downed the wine, took three deep breaths, blew her nose, and wiped her tears.

"I'm fine." She said. Evangeline stared at her. They had very different definitions of 'fine'.

"None of that now, Potts. Tell me what's going on." Potts huffed.

"Call me Pepper, please."

"None of that now, Pepper. What's up?"

"You saw Tony avert the terrorist attack?" Stark had managed to blow up a dockyard. If that was averting a terrorist attack, she'd hate to see him save the world. She nodded.

"Tony tells me he knows you. He's been searching for this bar ever since you helped him out." Mother fucking Tony Stark.

"It's hard to find." Pepper narrowed her eyes, but seemed to accept it as the truth.

"The terrorist kidnapped me, and gave me an experimental drug. Tony's managed to nullify its effects, but what if I blow up?" She grimaced, holding back tears. Evangeline frowned.

"I think you need to explain that to me again." Pepper explained about extremis, and how Stark had managed to create a cure, but there was still a chance she'd explode.

"Well. You said it flares up in times of extreme stress?" Pepper nodded.

"Don't you think you'd have blown up when you nearly died, if you ever were going to?"

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"Tony's still a bastard. Didn't understand why I was worried." Evangeline grinned. Familiar ground.

"Stark's a dick."

"A massive one."

"Has he really been looking for this bar?"

"Yeah."

"He's going to be jealous when he finds out you found it."

"Good."


	8. Following The Reichenbach Fall

The man could have been a Black, judging by the aristocratic angles of his cheek bones and the haughty way he held himself. Could have, but wasn't. Firstly, Evangeline noted he was dressed as a muggle, a reasonably well off one at that. She'd never seen a pureblood manage it quite so thoroughly. Well, other than herself. Secondly, and more importantly, was his gaze. It flickered around her pub, resting on various items she'd deemed safe enough to be left unconcealed in the muggle world, but were decidedly magical. No wizarding raised man found those items of any interest at all.

"Are you part of a cult?" He asked, striding forward pulling off his black leather gloves with practised movement. She stifled a laugh and cleared her throat.

"No. No I'm not. I just own the pub." His eyes narrowed, but he didn't challenge her.

"Sherlock Holmes." He extended a hand. She raised a brow and clasped it.

"Evangeline Brown." The Holmes were in fact a squib offshoot of the Blacks extending back to the early seventeenth Century, so she'd not been far off. She'd worked with a Holmes a few times post-war in an attempt to stabilise muggle-magical relations, and he was an infuriatingly mysterious man.

"You wouldn't happen to be related to Mycroft Holmes?" She asked, preferring to be blunt. She'd heard he'd had a brother. She'd also heard he was dead. She brushed her mind against his, just enough to determine whether he was being truthful. Sherlock sneered.

"Unfortunately he's my brother." Evangeline laughed. She couldn't blame him. So, Sherlock Holmes was alive. He appraised her, then fixed her with a piercing gaze. She gazed right back.

"Witch?" He asked. She inclined her head and smirked at him. He huffed. "I'm looking for a man named Evander Bane." She tapped her fingers upon the bar top as she examined him. She knew the name.

"Come with me." She said. She tapped the bookshelf with her wand and it shuffled out the way. She walked straight through the illusion of wall hidden behind it and led him into her study. Books lined the wall, the only one free braced with a desk against it, various magical portraits, and a floo connection. She grasped a handful of powder and threw it into the empty fireplace.

"W.I.C.C.A. HQ, password: wormwood." She called and stuck her head into the green flames. Yarrow greeted her and knelt before his own connection.

"Alright Brown. Haven't heard from you in a while. Still working at that pub?" She rolled her eyes.

"Yes and you know it. I've got a Holmes here, asking about Evander Bane." Yarrow rubbed his eyes.

"Bane's been giving us a right lot of trouble. Could use a little extra help, although you know how I feel about Mycroft bloody Holmes." She grinned.

"Oh yes. But this is Sherlock." He scoffed.

"That nutter? He's dead, and besides, he'd never stray out of London."

"He's not as dead as every seems to think. Pulled a Snape." Yarrow grimaced.

"Alright. You better come through, the both of you." Evangeline nodded, and drew back. Sherlock was busy debating basic magical theory with her great grandmother.

"Yes, but if you can turn a straw into wheat, and a rock into a pig, then why can you turn both into a ham sandwich?" He demanded. "It's illogical, and highly inconsistent." The portrait gasped, affronted, but with a flick of her wrist Evangeline silenced it.

"We've got information for you. Ever used a floo before?" Sherlock pursed his lips and didn't answer. She rolled her eyes.

"Throw a handful of powder into the grate. State, clearly, the name of the place, and the password, which are W.I.C.C.A. HQ, password: wormwood. Then step in. It'll pull you out at the end."

"How does it work? Some kind of wormhole? Do the fabrics of space bend? Photon entanglement?" Evangeline stared at him, then groaned. Muggles and their science. She rubbed her eyes.

"Just step into the bloody fireplace." She growled. His mouth twitched in an almost smile, then he strode through the floo and hopefully into HQ. She followed him, and found him petrified upon the floor. She raised her brow.

"He tried to punch me." Yarrow explained, while he fingered his wand. She turned to Sherlock, and he was released from the spell. He shook himself and stood, arms clasped behind his back.

"I was testing his reactions. I theorised that magical beings had potentially become dependent on magic and thus would have slower reaction times. Evidently not." Sherlock said. Evangeline sighed, and exchanged a glance with Yarrow.

"Bloody Holmes's." Yarrow muttered.

"Frankly, that might be correct when applied to certain types of wizards. But law enforcement values physical competence just as much as magical, and we're a generation of war survivors. Everyone our age or older is twitchy as hell. You won't get the jump on many of us." She explained.

"War?" Sherlock asked.

"Irrelevant." Yarrow interrupted. "Now, you're after information on Evander Bane?" Sherlock nodded. Evangeline coughed.

"I'll head back now."

"I can't persuade you to quit that miserable bar of yours and join us again?" Yarrow asked. She could see he already knew that answer.

"Nope. Don't you know? I live in the same city as the Avengers. They sometimes pay me a visit." Yarrow shook his head.

"You're wasting your talents."

"That's where we disagree." She said, and strode through the floo to return to her bar before they could repeat an argument they'd had many times before. She settled herself into a chair by the fireplace, a book on her lap.

Sherlock Holmes was alive and kicking. That was fascinating. She hoped she never met him again.


End file.
